


Fat Girls Don't Fly

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Rope Bondage, Top Kylo Ren, fat reader, kylo ren AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: From this prompt: anonymous asked:I’m so stoked for Torture Tuesday, I’m hooked on your writing - it’s really unlocked some kinks I didn’t know I had. Please can I request some horizontal suspension rope bondage with Kylo? Maybe some blood or wound play thrown in for good measure? Thank you so much!
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Torturer Tuesdays





	Fat Girls Don't Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely. Some horizontal suspension, you say? I’m going to be honest with you and say that I pondered over this for a while. I had some ideas that I think are pretty good, and I’m putting them in the jar for future stuff. But it is nearly 1 a.m. here and this JUST NOW came to me. This is, truly for real, written straight from personal experience. I don’t know if it’ll speak to you, but I like it. So, this is where we are at.
> 
> ALSO: I consider this to be pat 1 of 2. So, if someone will help remind a bitch to write part 2, that would be great.
> 
> A/N: fat!reader; ropey roperson; kylo being a sexy top; just general goodness here

Fat girls don't fly

Right?

All of the rope bunnies you knew, or had ever seen, were svelte, lithe, beautiful.

But you?

You were hips and ass, breasts and soft tummy. Where they were long and lean, you were shorter and rounder. They had long torsos, long legs, and long hair. You had none of those things.

It wasn’t that you disliked your body; in fact, you’d fought a hard battle to love the skin you lived in. But the truth was that even in your ‘body positive’ community, fat girls didn’t fly.

But oh how you wanted to. 

It looked so peaceful, like the gateway to prayer. It was the sort of flight you didn’t think you’d have to share with anyone -- a solo meditation with your rigger as your gatekeeper.

But every rigger you even posed the hypothetical question to shot you down. Its too dangerous, they said. I’m just not that skilled, they said. I wouldn’t be comfortable, they said.

‘I don’t like fat girls,’ their eyes said. ‘Not a pretty picture,’ their faces said.

Tucked into your corner, you watched as the beams went up, the ring found its spot, and the bundles of ropes hit the floor. Though they had all rebuffed you, some of your favorites were here tonight, and they would put on a good show.

And the dark stranger who’d only started attending recently? He was here, too. You, and every other warm blooded human being in the building, watched him hungrily each time he arrived.

He, too, let the pretty girls fly.

Why wouldn’t he? He was tall and muscular, long and lean himself. HE made just as pretty a picture as any of the bunnies, and photos of him mid-rigging cropped up every day. 

And he was  _ good _ to boot. Spend enough time around the rope community, and you learn what to watch for. Even if you only ever stayed on the ground, you knew the dangers. You knew what he should be paying attention to on the bodies he tied. 

Nerves. Pressure points. Twisting the body in particular ways and how long a contorted body could hold on.

He didn’t like to just make a pretty picture. He liked to push a body to its limit, to watch his partner sweat through the burn and give him more and more.

Something you knew you could do. But again...fat girls and all that.

Before you descended even further into your pity party, you packed up all of your gear and slung the bag across your body. Popping your ear buds in, you hopped to your feet, turned, and crashed directly into a man-mountain.

“Oh shit!” You popped the pods out and looked up..and up..and up. “Hey I’m really sorry.”

“I see you here a lot.” You couldn’t tell if it was rude that he didn’t accept your apology, and you also couldn’t tell if you were flattered that he noticed you at all. “There a reason you don’t ever get off the ground? Afraid of heights?”

Mashing your lips together, you fought the urge to look this delicious man all the way up and down and tell him you’d climb him like a damn tree because you were  _ not _ , in fact, afraid of heights. Instead, you looked away because this really wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have.

But it was right there on your tongue. Fat girls don’t fly.

“Let me guess,” he said, “Nobody here will rig you up because you’re not a size 0.”

Eyes wide and newly shining with unshed emotion, you turned back to look. Your mouth dried out, and you blinked repeatedly, trying to get all of your shit back together.

Before you knew it, he hooked a finger into the thick strap at your chest and tugged you forward a step..and another..and then another. Mesmerized, you let him lead you back to his corner, to his gear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, and you definitely weren’t planning on stopping him as he unzipped and peeled away your hoodie.

In about a minute, you stood in front of this sexy, hypnotic man in nothing but your black tank, sports bra, and boy shorts. He’d even shucked your socks and tied your hair up into a messy bun.

He’d taken complete control of the moment, of the air you breathed, of you.

Bending a bit to meet your eyes, he tucked a finger under your chin. You met his confident stare, suddenly feeling safer than you had ever felt. And more capable than you’d ever felt.

“I’m trusting you to speak to me. Got it?”

Unable to speak, you nodded obediently. But you remembered rule #1 of the rope bottom’s rule book. Words. Out loud.

“Yes,” you nodded again, “I will.”

Seemingly pleased, he tapped your nose and leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. It was such an intimate gesture that your body loosened even further, warming and readying to endure whatever he put upon you.

“Good. Let’s show ‘em what you got.”

Another nod, another breath. You planted your feet and steadied your shoulders. He would be counting on you to hold your balance at the start.

And you were so fucking ready.


End file.
